𝑰dentity v || Oneshots

♡ Authority | Luca Balsa ¤

1st winner from the previous voting list.
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It had been quite the nuisance to find the Inventor less obedient than before. It wasn't like he wasn't troublesome in the first place, but almost every interaction with him resulted in dissatisfaction as the simple and short favors were brushed off like dust. His reputation as "Prisoner" was evidently labeled right, as he was acting everything but easy going. This was especially true when it came to you. From a simple "Can you please pass me the wire?" to "It's getting tight here. Luca, please move a bit," nothing had budged the brunette from helping. It was as if you were purposely ignored, but even a ghost had been more noticeable.

Sighing as the contraption that was laid on the counter sparked, your fingers came across the odd sensation of emptiness. The screwdriver that had once settled on top of the table disappeared, an outline of its figure left for the imagination. As usual, you looked around and inside drawers, rummaging through scraps and any irrelevant pieces of materials. But to no use, the disappearance of a single tool would still impact on your work. All hours of trying to fix a part of Tracy's robot had been futile, as the missing gizmo was nowhere to be seen.

"So much for volunteering on helping Tracy...," you frowned, a little guilty that after suggesting to help fix it for her, you were stuck on the last limb that got damaged from Smiley's rocket. The main wires had somehow tangled with one another, open circuits had made it extremely dangerous to the placement of the batteries near the left chest- which the limb was severely injured. Any more movement, the sharp ripped metal would pierce through the battery, and having a leaking amount of acidic and toxic chemicals would definitely harm others and the robot itself. However a screw was blocking the entrance that retained the main life source of the human-like contraption. But back to the main problem, the screw driver is still missing...

In a fit of annoyance, you gently placed the single torn robotic limb back on the counter, gloves that were worn to lessen the risk of any unexpected and acidic leakage that could make contact with open skin, thrown to the side as you briskly left the studio. The sight of the sun's light was excruciatingly painful as the dim and single lamp you had back inside was for concentration purposes, leaving your eyes needing to readjust to natural bright settings once again. As your eyes did so, the appearance of familiar brown locks caught up to your view. Within an instant, you hurriedly ran to his side, a little hope of being able to borrow a tool from the inventor sparking.

"Luca! Thank god you're near. My screwdriver has gone missing, so I was wondering if it's not a bother to borrow one from you?" You asked, pausing as the brunette kept on walking. He only glanced back, a glazed look in his eyes slowly becoming lively as your figure only became a blur.

"Tracy! Do you have a moment?" Luca pushed passed, your shoulders bumping into one another as his force was far greater than yours. Within a second, your body had collided with the ground, the harsh shove led to a plethora of pain as your limbs shakily lifted in an act to push against the fall. But with an accident like this, an open wound from a previous match suddenly reopened. A gash of pain sufficed near your left leg, the thin stitches slightly breaking loose from irritated force to the limb. It was surrounded with unbearable terror as the sheer feeling of broken flesh emerged from a time of healing. It was if someone was stabbing through your leg, and Luca was left to add salt on the pain. A smooth layer of unbearable torment, another layer of deprived attention.

Just what the hell did you do to make him ignore you?

Sneering, a low huff escaped your lips as you wrinkled your eyes. Sucking in air, the sight of velvet red ran down what used to be stitches. The pulsing of your heartbeat clouded your ears, an array of hushed voices were far too unrecognizable as the pain only shadowed over any distressed bystanders. To say the wound was small was an understatement. With a smooth and clean cut from the Photographer, his sword wasn't exactly dull and short. You were previously unable to play from matches until recently, and this had only applied more reason to be bedridden. But despite your protests of wanting to participate, tears ran down as the pain could only add more tension as time went without being treated.